


What She Does When No One Is Watching

by Russell_Craig



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2019-01-26 04:31:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12548912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Russell_Craig/pseuds/Russell_Craig
Summary: On her last night in Winterfell, during a feast held in her honor Daenerys sneaks away.





	What She Does When No One Is Watching

The typically drab hall was full of laughter, music and free-flowing mead. After a month in the North, Daenerys had come to like it and the people who held the territory for her. She looked around the room and smiled at what she saw. 

Bran was a unique man. Her first instinct was to discount his alleged abilities but that didn’t last. The young Stark convinced her of his talent by knowing things he shouldn’t, about her past, her life and her family. After a single conversation it would have been madness to dismiss him as a fraud. She better than anyone knew even outrageous things could be true. She was the mother of dragons. He sat against a wall in his modified chair, a fur blanket covering his lap and useless legs. He had a far away look in his eye. She casually wondered what he was seeing or when? Was it the future or the past he was tangled up in? 

If Bran was withdrawn and private, Sansa was the opposite. A beautiful woman indeed. In her green silk dress, she commanded attention. A few days in the North and Daenerys could tell Sansa was a passionate person, who cared about the welfare of her people. She took her role as Lady Stark very seriously. She was polite and proper with an astute mind. Like Tyrion she seemed to understand the ‘Great Game’ in a way Daenerys feared she never would. She’d personally seen Sansa challenge Jon’s authority and seize control in a room full of unruly Northern Lords. She had their respect and Daenerys could understand why. In their time there, her Hand had grown increasingly close to the eldest Stark daughter, often talking with her in whispered conversations late into the night. The Queen enjoyed the way he blushed at any mention of his former wife. She watched them closely, amused by this new side of Tyrion. 

Her relationship with Jon Snow or should she say Aegon Targaryen, was complicated. She’d taken Jon to bed before she knew who he was. Several long nights on the ship were passed in his company. She was stunned to learn the man sharing her bed was her nephew but Bran had information that made it impossible to refute him. For several days after, Jon seemed just as lost as she was, uncertain of where this left them and how it changed things. They hadn’t spoken about it or their relationship since and Daenerys wasn’t eager to. She planned for a lot of things when she got on the boat bound for Westeros but not this. She’d always been the last Dragon, the last of her family, until now. Daenerys didn’t like it but she’d begun to see Jon as a potential threat to her rule and she didn’t know what to do with those particular feelings. Her former lover was standing near his brother, talking with Davos and Jorah. He was smiling, clearly enjoying himself and looking very much the King in his fine armor. 

The last Stark in the room was Arya, the she-wolf. While the others were fairly straight-forward, Daenerys found Arya to be a mystery from the start. She was as harsh and cold as a Northern winter but Daenerys had witnessed several moments of unexpected tenderness when she interacted with her family. The scars that covered her skin told her history and although she didn’t have all the details, it was clearly violent. Daenerys heard whispers that Arya had spent years among infamous assassins in Braavos. The scar that began on her forehead and ran down over her eye to her chin, led power to the argument. While Sansa was comfortable around the other nobles, Arya preferred being among the men, the soldiers, the smallfolk. As far as Daenerys could tell she had no patience for the politics of governing. Wearing a simple black shirt and matching pants she had a thin sword strapped to her belt. The first time she saw the weapon Daenerys thought it incapable of hurting anyone but her opinion quickly changed when she watched it wielded so expertly. Arya was engaged in some sort of drinking game as Mormont soldiers cheered her on. 

Despite the cold, her people seemed to like Winterfell as much as she did. Tyrion’s willingness to stay had more to do with Sansa than anything else, she guessed but he wasn’t the only one. Missandei and Grey Worm regularly snuck out when they weren’t required to go walking through the town. Her advisor was captivated by how different this world was from anything she experienced in her homeland. Grey Worm she suspected would never like snow but would willingly follow Missandei anywhere.

She was dragged from her thoughts by a voice. “Would you like to dance?” She blinked hard and tried not to appear as surprised as she was. Jon stood in front of her with his hand out. She gave him a smile as she took it. Across the room she noted both Stark women watching. 

“Sure.” 

As they started moving to the music he leaned closer. “Having a good time?” he asked. “All of this is for you, after all.”

She rolled her eyes to make certain he knew she disagreed. The feast might have been in her honor but none of the guests were here for her and she knew it. “These people don’t care about me,” she said confidently. “They’re just glad I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

“That’s not true,” he tried. After a moment he amended his point. “Okay, it’s not entirely true.” They both smiled at his concession. “Not everyone wants you to go,” he assured her. 

Daenerys felt guilty, not only because she’d avoided Jon and his affections since shortly after they arrived but also because she wasn’t sure how to tell him how she was feeling. “That is very sweet, but I think all of the Lords who follow your banner will be pleased when the Southern Queen returns to the South.” 

“I’m sorry about them,” he started, “they’ll come around.” 

She had her doubts but didn’t share them with Jon. “Time will tell if you’re right.” The song ended and she used it as a chance to escape. “Thank you for the dance.”

“We could try it again,” Jon said, grasping her hand in his. 

Daenerys gave him what she hoped with a kind smile. “Perhaps later.” Violet eyes swept across the room and she noticed several people were not where they’d been just minutes before. “I need to go and speak with Tyrion,” she lied, gently freeing her hand. 

His disappointment doubled the guilt she felt. “Of course.” 

For ten minutes she moved around the room, making sure she was seen. She chatted with Bran and Sansa briefly. Sansa complimented her dress and was it her imagination or did Bran look at her as if he knew exactly what was going to happen next? She assumed he did. She avoided the other nobles, certain they didn’t want to speak to her anyway. She slipped up the staircase while Jon made a toast to his bannermen. 

The room she’d been staying in wasn’t exceptionally large, but it was clean and tastefully decorated. The silver dress she’d almost worn for the feast still laid on the end of the bed. At the last moment, it was Missandei’s opinion that prompted her to choose the crimson dress instead. As she passed the mirror she huffed in annoyance. Several strips of hair had worked their way free and were hanging down on both sides of her face. She tucked them away behind her ears and smoothed out a wrinkle in the silk. Standing near the bed she kicked off her shoes and wiggled her sore toes. That felt better. 

On the way to the open window the cool breeze did nothing to calm the heat inside her. Her heart pounded in her chest, the noise of the feast downstairs sounded miles away and her skin was tingling with excitement. The sky was dark, lit by thousands of tiny specks in the distance. Directly outside her window, she could see the rooftop of a lower, adjoining building. She stuck her head out and was greeted by a smug, smirking face. It was the only person Daenerys really wanted to see. “Took you long enough,” Arya complained as she rose from where she’d been sitting. She gave Daenerys a hand and carefully helped her step out onto the roof. She had no idea what building they were actually on, nor did she care. Her main focus was on the fact that this was rapidly becoming her favorite place and Arya, her favorite companion. 

Snow fell on them and around them as they sat together. After a brief time side by side, Daenerys slipped under Arya’s arm and snuggled against her. She held out her hand and watched the white spots land, only to melt seconds later and vanish. “Have you been waiting long?” she asked after a stretch of quiet. 

“Came up during your dance with Jon,” Arya stated calmly. Daenerys knew her relationship with Jon was a sensitive topic for Arya, for obvious reasons. She hadn’t been with him since before she met the younger Stark but that mattered little. 

“He asked, I couldn’t say ‘no,’” she explained in her defense. 

“I know,” Arya said. With a gentle touch she reached out for Arya’s scarred face. Her finger wandered the uneven flesh as her lips inched closer and closer to their target. When the kiss was over Arya said it again, “I know.”

“I’d rather have been dancing with you,” Daenerys admitted and it was true. 

The woman she’d been leaning on surprised her by standing up. Without the support Daenerys nearly toppled over. “Come on then, let’s dance.” She held out her hand in invitation, the second Stark that night to do so. The setting not withstanding, it was so much more tempting than Jon’s had been. 

Laughter escaped before she could stop it. “Arya be serious. The roof is covered in ice. We’ll break our necks.” 

She smirked and cocked her head to the side slightly. “I won’t let you fall,” she vowed. “Come on Dany, take a risk.” There it was. She called her ‘Dany’. She told Jon she didn’t like that name and she hadn’t lied but for some reason it was less objectionable when it came from Arya. 

How could she refuse? They couldn’t hear the music over the wind but she pretended she could. Daenerys swayed to an imaginary tune, barefoot in the snow, on a roof in Winterfell. She would have been content to stay in the trap of Arya’s arms forever. The way the Northerner held her was so unlike anything she’d experienced before, with any of her other partners. Drogo had always been so forceful, so strong. Daario on the other hand, was concerned about her pleasure more than his own and spent hours pursuing that goal. While she wouldn’t lie and say she didn’t enjoy it, there were times she wanted something more. Amazingly Arya was perfectly suited for worshipping her body as Daario did without relinquishing control. She may have been a Queen in the daylight hours, but when she snuck away to be with Arya, her title meant less than nothing. 

They stayed like that under the moonlight, the pretense of dancing long forgotten. Daenerys settled her head on Arya’s chest and listened to her heart. Her breathing came to match the speed of the pumping under her ear. 

A gust of wind blew the loose hair across her face. She groaned as she brushed it aside. “We should probably get back before people miss us and before I look any worse.” 

Arya knocked her hand away and began toying with a strand of silver. She’d curl it around her finger, then release it and watch it straighten, only to repeat the gesture again. “They won’t miss us. Jon’ll be praising himself and his commanders for hours.”

It didn’t go unnoticed that Arya hadn’t made mention of her second reason for wanting to go indoors. “That may be true,” she acknowledged, “but I need to look presentable when we’re finished.”

“I’ll never be finished,” she whispered. 

Daenerys couldn’t control her smile. What a sweet thing for someone to say. Especially someone as gruff and difficult as Arya liked to think she was. “What was that?” she teased. 

The Northern woman blushed at being heard. Clearly that comment wasn’t meant for her ears. “I said you look beautiful,” she summarized. 

Enjoying the back and forth between them, Daenerys felt more relaxed than she had at any other point during the day. Emboldened, she decided to keep playing. “Are you just saying that because I’m your rightful Queen and you’re a loyal servant to the Iron Throne?”

Arya scoffed at the assumption. “Don’t be stupid,” she protested. “The fact that you’re a Queen just might be the ugliest thing about you.” 

If she thought Arya was being sweet before, she didn’t have words for how she was acting now. She lifted up onto her toes to steal a kiss. When Arya ducked her head to accommodate Daenerys’s request, the Targaryen gripped the back of her shirt and refused to release her. Her tongue traced the seam of her mouth before it slipped inside. When she finally pulled away she closed her teeth around Arya’s lower lip and tugged, causing a strange mixture of a moan and a grunt to slip out. 

Sitting with her back against Arya’s chest she leaned into the embrace. “I wish I didn’t have to go tomorrow,” she said in a quiet voice. It was the only subject neither of them had been willing to bring up. 

“I know,” Arya confirmed, “but you’re a Queen and your people need you Daenerys. I understand that.”

“You could always come with me,” she said too quickly. She was sure it was obvious that the offer had been on the tip of her tongue for days. 

Rough hands slid up and down her arms, warming her skin and making her ache for more contact. “Jon needs me here.” 

She looked up and found grey eyes staring down at her intently. “Be careful, Jon isn’t the only one who needs you anymore.”

They shared another kiss, Arya leaning over her shoulder to reach her lips. “When you need me, I’ll be there,” she promised. 

Daenerys had only intended to take a short interlude. She planned to be back in the hall before Jon, Tyrion or anyone else of importance realized she was gone. Now though, in Arya’s arms it was hard to remember why she would ever want to leave. Arya broke the perfection of the moment first. “We should probably get you inside before you freeze? I don’t think people would approve if I caused the Queen harm.”

She shook her head and chuckled humorlessly. “I think the Lords downstairs would likely promote you.” 

“They’re fools!” Arya announced with conviction. “Don’t worry about them.” 

Neither spoke for a while. When she thought Arya intended to stand, Daenerys pressed herself back against her body, putting one of her warm hands on Arya’s. “Don’t move,” she instructed. “You’re perfect where you are.” 

“What about…”

However she planned to finish that question, the answer wouldn’t change. “Let them wait.” She pressed down on Arya’s hand, urging her to tighten her grip. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Thanks for reading. I’ve been playing around with three different Arya and Daenerys stories. This one came first. I haven’t decided if its just a one-shot or if it’s the start of something bigger. Feel free to let me know what you think. I’m open to suggestions. 
> 
> Russell Craig.


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